


listen to the breeze, whisper to me please

by Kt_fairy



Series: The brighter sun and the easier lays [3]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: -Ish, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety, Communication, Communication Failure, Drinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Period Typical Attitudes, Sexual Content, Smoking, rock star excess, scrabble wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-23 21:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17691521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: Everything felt wrong. Had been feeling wrong, John realised when looking back on it, since before they had set out on this tour. Roger was trying too hard, flying off the handle at the oddest things, not talking.John was trying to be patient. But Roger's behaviour was starting to wear on him now, and he wasn’t sure how far his patience could stretch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, back at it again with more of this universe because it just wasn't done with me yet. hhhhhhhh.
> 
> Tag's will update with the next chapter (that is already written and waiting to go)

 

 

 **-1980**  

 

 There were rose trees in the garden.

 

 Now, this is where one would expect to see rose trees, so of itself it wasn’t all that remarkable. However, when Roger had hustled John out of the house this morning the end of the patio had still been lined with the shrubs the previous owners of the house had put in.

 

 The drive home from London had been to the sound of Roger's constant chatter, his hands drumming out a inconsistent beat on the steering wheel as he navigated the twisting Surrey roads. He had been doing a very bad job of pretending that he wasn't up to something, and John had humoured him with his fond silence.

 

 Now Roger was stood halfway between John and the french doors, shifting impatiently as he beamed his excited, almost mischievous, grin at him, practically bursting at the seams. 

 

“Do we have over-zealous  neighbours or was this you?” John asked.

 

“Oh, shut up and go and look at them!”

 

 John set down the bags of pre-tour shopping Roger had, not so unsublty, insisted be done on the other side of London, and moved to get a better look at the garden.

 

 It wasn't a particularly nice day. The sun wasn't all that bright and the sky wasn't all that clear, but at least it wasn't raining. The tree’s were lush and well cared for, and the uninspiring day made the brilliant blooms, a mixture of oranges and yellows, seemed all the more bright where they were nestled amongst the dark green leaves.

 

 “They’re very nice,” John said, because they were and he didn’t really know much about plants, and glanced over to Roger who looked fit to burst.

 

“Count how many there are!”

 

 John didn’t need to turn back to count them. There were five, divided into two by the path that ran down to the trees at the foot of the lawn. 

 

“There’s five - I don’t... Wait,” John looked out of the doors again as Roger cackled.

 

“Its nineteen eighty!”

 

“Wha.. _._ ”

 

“You’ve put up with me for five years this year!” Roger declared, that manic tinge to his voice that always gave away how nervous he was. 

 

"Don’t say it like that,” John said softly, moving from the doors to Roger who was trying to not bounce on the balls of his feet. “I’ve not put up with you any more than I did before we fucked.”

 

 Roger laughed, pushing his sunglasses into his hair as he gave John a gentle kiss. “It’s reassuring you’ve always liked me this much.”

 

 John hummed noncommittally and glanced over his shoulder at the roses as Roger laughed again.

 

 They didn’t do anniversaries. Not because they weren’t romantic, but because neither of them could really agree on when that would be exactly. So this was a nice gesture, if a little unexpected. But not so unexpected that Roger should be as obviously nervous as he was - it wasn’t like they _never_ gave one another anything - and John tried to wrack his brains for anything he had missed.

 

 “We’ve survived touring and recording as a couple. Buying the London house and then this one. We’ve, you know - we’ve done well! I thought...It’s a testament to us!”

 

“A testament to us, but they’re for me?”

 

“Weeell. I don’t really do flowers.”

 

 Roger didn’t. Neither of them did. John had loved the flowers Roger used to bring him when money wasn’t quite so tight because of what they meant, and for how they had brightened up John’s flat when either it or he was feeling a little cramped and dingy. He hadn't liked them any more or even as much as when Roger would bring him a circuit board he'd found or, when money got significantly less tight, the sci-fi books they both loved to read.

 

 He wasn't going to think too long or hard about it though. Anyone who tried to work out Roger's ever darting, whip smart mind would soon find themselves tied up in knots.

 

 Besides, he had always been a bit of a romantic at heart.

 

 He tugged Roger closer by his belt loops, slipping his fingertips under the waistband of his jeans as he gave him a soft kiss, and then another. “I really like it. Thank you. It's a very lovely thing to do.”

 

“As long as you like it.”

 

“I do.”

 

“And I thought that it would be something nice to have here. Growing and all that stuff while we're away all over the place. Maybe add to it every year or something. See how it goes.”

 

“Are you going to fill up the whole garden?”

 

“Weeell. I might…” Roger mused as he slipped a hand up the back of John’s shirt. “Or I might stop at ten because that's how many will fit down there.”

 

“How romantic of you.”

 

“I've been known to have my moments,” he drummed his fingers against John’s skin, and then stopped himself. “It's not...it's not too much?”

 

“No. Not at all.”

 

“Good,” Roger grinned, looking very proud of himself as he kissed John again, deep and slow. “Come on. I'll put all our goodies away, you get us some drinks and we can sit here and bask in how romantic I am.”

 

“You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

 

“Of course.”

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger didn't often test John's patience. He was incredibly considerate and dutiful and achingly generous at times. And was also very good at picking up when John was very much _not_ in the mood for some of his antic’s and would go and annoy Freddie instead. So it was unlike him to do something as thoughtless as accepting an invitation to go rally driving two days before he was supposed to leave to go on tour.

 

 John understood that Roger wanted to spend time with his friends before they left the continent for four months. He understood the need to do something that wasn't about the tour, he even understood how fun it was to throw a car around Brands Hatch and, to be honest, was a little jealous that he hadn't been able to go as well. He hated to be a killjoy, which was why he'd not tried to stop Roger, but they had things they needed to do.

 

 He glared at the list of things Roger wanted to take with him, scribbled out two night ago while they had been watching TV, and dumped half of Roger's bathroom shelf into one of his bags.

 

 John didn't have to pack for him. Roger hadn't asked him to or made any indication that he wasn't planning on doing it himself. But John knew how it would go if Roger left it until the day before he was supposed to fly to Canada. He would run mad shoving things into bags and end up taking shit he didn't need and leaving behind the stuff he did and stressing John out more than he was already.

 

 He wasn't packing for him to make a point, John told himself as he folded one of Roger's jackets. He could be spiteful in the heat of the moment, he knew that, but he didn’t think he was petty. It was...calming. Something to do to work out his frustrations so he wouldn't take them into a long, long tour where things could so easily get blown out of proportion and spread until everyone was at one another's throats.

 

 Besides, John wasn't going to wave Roger off to the other side of the world holding a stupid rally day with his old university friends against him. Flying in pairs was a precaution against the worst case scenario of a crash, ensuring two band members would be around to carry on and preserve Queen, but John had lost people before. He knew how easy it was for things to go so horribly wrong, knew the aching agony of loss all too well.

 

“I’m talking myself out of this like a housewife,” John muttered to himself, and then laughed when he realised he had said that while folding Roger's underwear.

 

 He turned the music up and danced around while he went through Roger's packing list, feeling a little silly when he kept back one of his shirts. They'd only be apart for two nights, and it wasn't like they hadn't been apart before, and for longer, but London and Vancouver were on either side of the map and the distance already felt like it was yawning open between them.

 

 The shirt was soft and bright, most of Roger's clothes were, and sometimes just by running his fingers over them John could feel the phantom sensation of his body and its warmth.

 

 That was probably a bit odd. John didn’t go around feeling up Roger’s clothes all that often, it was just a thing that struck him sometimes. How the brush of a certain fabric or the smell of hairspray and cigarettes could make him think so strongly of Roger.

 

 He knew he was being silly when he slipped the shirt into his own bag, not planning to do much with it until he was in Vancouver. John had never been giddy, had always been somewhat level headed, but Roger brought out a side of him that would sneak clothes out of suitcases and leave notes in its place hinting that the next time Roger saw it John might just be wearing it.

 

 He crawled across the bed to hunt out the pen and paper Roger kept in his bedside table. The draw ratted with all the lube and lighters in it as he pulled it open, and John was a little surprised to see his own face looking up at him.

 

 Roger had photographs of him. Nothing too racy, or that revealed too much, but they were certainly intimate enough. The kind of photo’s you’d look at and know had been taken by a lover. If he had expected to find any photo's of himself in Roger's bedside table it would be those, not the well kept Polaroid that John picked out of the draw.

 

 It was an old photograph, the length of his hair made that clear even without how painfully young he looked. He couldn’t have been older than twenty four but he looked so much younger, standing in a nondescript dressing room fiddling with that bow-tie choker that he used to wear. Whoever had taken the Polaroid (probably Roger) had not only caught him speaking, mouth open mid word, but with the light from the make up mirrors shining through the thin silk shirt Freddie used to dress him in. You could just make out the silhouette of his chest and the bend at his waist as he stood with his hip cocked, hands raised to his throat and eyes downcast.

 

 This was how he had looked when he had first caught Roger’s eye, back when they had all been - to paraphrase Mick Rock - “otherworldly creatures as pretty and as pouty as school girls”. It was a time well documented in publicity shots and album covers and their own own snap happy phases, so it wasn’t like they didn’t have albums and shoe boxes full of candid’s like this. John must have known this was being taken, and Roger had probably even shown it to him at the time.

 

 He ghosted a finger over the hazy image, unconsciously reaching up to touch his own hair. He glanced at the mirror on the wardrobe door, at the reflection of himself in a worn t-shirt and an old pair of jeans, at his hair that was still growing out after he had cut it all off two years ago. He was twenty-eight, still skinny as anything, and looked ordinary. Not like the young man in the photo Roger was keeping by his side of the bed.

 

 John replaced it and carefully closed the draw. He backed across the bed, took the shirt out of his suitcase and put it back into Roger’s.

 

 

* ***** * 

 

 The first leg of the tour, a dart down the West Coast of North America before they slogged around the rest of the continent, was over. So of course there was a party.

 

 The rooftop they were on looked out over San Francisco bay, the Pacific ocean kicking up a breeze cold enough to prickle John’s heated cheeks. It must have been a couple of hours since he had found his way onto the dance floor with Freddie, being joined by Brian’s wife Christine and her friend not long after. He eventually found himself dancing amongst a group of the drag queen’s Freddie had hired for the party who were currently telling him the secrets of their wigs.

 

“So you glue it down?”

 

“Pin’s won’t do honey. You flick your hair and that wig, she’ll come right on off your head.”

 

“We should put one on him!”

 

“Oh no. I’m fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

 

“I’ve seen your old music videos on TV, honey. You were cute with long hair.”

 

“He’s cute now!”

 

“She’s right, you are cute.”

 

“Oh. Um. Thank you.”

 

“Don’t worry, honey. We don’t bite,” she said, playfully stroking his arm. “Unless you ask nicely.”

 

“Oh, I believe that. And I always ask nicely,” he said, grinning when they burst out laughing. “Would you ladies like another drink?”

 

 They demurred, stating they were still working but would hold him to his offer, disappearing off into the crowd with loud declarations of how much of a sweetheart he was.

 

 The attention that drew finally got him away from the dance floor, squeezing past a group of big moustached men in leather as he looked for a drink.

 

“Deaky!” Roger’s voice called across the noise of the party and John peered through the low light to try and spot him. “Deak’s _finally_. Excuse me love, I have to…”

 

 The rest of what Roger said got swallowed by the chatter of the party, but John had caught sight of him. The rooftop bar they had booked for the party had plush, grey seats running along the side closest to the bay, and Roger was currently extracting himself from a group of tall, pretty women who were sat around him.

 

 John didn’t feel any animosity towards them. He knew how beautiful Roger was, how charming and warm he could be, and didn’t begrudge their attention on a man who they thought was available.

 

 He still rolled his eyes and swiped some lurid cocktail from a waiter going past, pulling a face when he downed half of it and found that it tasted just as lurid as it looked.

 

“Deaky I’ve been waiting for you to get off that fucking dance fl - what the fuck is that you’re drinking?”

 

“Dunno. Tastes like pink.”

 

 Roger snorted, touching John’s wrist to get him to raise the glass up so he could take a sip, keeping eye contact until the taste hit his tongue and he pulled a face. “Christ. Yeah. It does taste like pink.”

 

“Right?”

 

 Roger took a drag on his cigarette, passing it over to John as he stepped closer. “Come with me,” he said softly, dropping his voice low as he ran his thumb over the soft skin on the inside of John’s wrist.

 

“Okay,” John whispered, letting himself be lead through the party and around the back of the bar to the little section that was for the band and their guests. It was currently only populated by coats and gifts at the moment, a leather hat set on top of a half drunk bottle of Tattinger catching John’s attention as Roger pulled him to the back corner.

 

 It was a view John had seen before, the twinkling lights of San Francisco stretching up and up the steep slope until it met the faint suggestion of stars in the sky. He leant his arms against the rail, stretching his neck one way and then the other before leaning over the side to peer down at the brightly lit street below. He glanced at the drink still in his hand and then straightened, hesitating a moment before chucking the rest of it off the side of the building.

 

 He was looking around for somewhere to put the glass when Roger put his hand on his waist, taking the glass from John’s hand and setting it aside without taking his eyes off him. “You look lovely.”

 

 John glanced down at his shirt, jeans, and trainers. “Do I?”

 

“You’re having fun, you’re happy. It shines out of you when you’re happy,” Roger said, glancing around before giving him a quick kiss.

 

 John found himself grinning a little helplessly, reaching up to cup Roger’s cheek. His blue eyes were still bright even in this light, long lashes smudges in the dim light. “Charmer.”

 

 Roger dragged John against him, then seemed to realise they weren’t somewhere wholly private and took a step back. “I’m sorry about all the women. It’s San Fran, all that free love shit and it’s a tour and - and it seemed like good cover, I guess.”

 

“Cover?”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“You make us sound like secret agents.”

 

“Are you my bond girl?”

 

“Piss off.”

 

“You might look nice in a frock.”

 

“Don’t have the tits for it.”

 

“That’s never bothered me,” Roger murmured, voice pitched so low John felt his whole body heat.

 

“No. It hasn’t,” John conceded, feeling like they might end up fucking right here and not sure he’d care all that much.

 

 Roger swayed into John and then away, clearing his throat as he let his hand slip from John’s waist. “I don’t want you to…I’m not leading the women on. I never imply it’s ever going to be more than talking. Just so you know. It’s not - it’s not anything…”

 

 “I know you’re not going to sleep with any of them Roger. It’s fine. Leave it.”

 

 Roger wiggled his jaw from side to side as he looked at John intently. “It’s obviously not fine if you’re snapping at me to leave it.”

 

 John snorted. “Of course it’s _not_ fine. The very fact we have to hide back here for a innocent peck on the lips is very not fine. I don’t...resent you enjoying female company. Women are great! But if...”

 

 He swallowed back what he was going to say. Unpleasant things about Roger surrounding himself with women so no-one thought he was anything but a red-blooded male. How he revelled in his groupie fucking reputation and was scared to lose it now he was in his thirties. It was unfair to Roger, who had always tried his very best to make this work, to lash out at him like that when he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

 

“The fact...well, the fact that we even have to have this conversation, and talk about _cover_ , it not ideal. But what can we do, Roger?”

 

 Roger reached out and took John’s hands in his, squeezing his fingers in time with his heartbeat. “I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. It’s not your fault.”

 

“I…Well…” Roger swallowed, tightening his grip on John’s hands. “You see…” John watched the internal struggle play out on Roger’s face, his brow drawing into a fierce scowl before he sighed, his grip loosening on John’s hands as his expression cleared.

 

“What is it?”

 

 Roger considered what he was going to say, and then shook his head. “You know I’d say fuck everyone and everything and give it all up for you.”

 

“I’d never, ever want you to do that,” John said, curling his fingers into Roger’s shirt.

 

“That’s why I’d do it,” Roger laughed, shaking his head as he looked at John like he was far, far more than he was.

 

 Listening carefully for signs of anyone approaching John leant into Roger, tightening his hold on his shirt as he nipped at his bottom lip before kissing him. Roger obviously _wasn’t_ listening out for anyone who might stumble upon them as he took John’s face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly. He leant back against the railing and pulled John against him, hand on his hip and thumb smoothing over his cheek as they kissed.

 

“Fuck,” Roger breathed when he finally pulled away. John watched the realisation of where they were dawn on him and sniggered when Roger’s eyes darted around behind him. “You can’t laugh, you’re the distracting one!”

 

“Says you.”

 

 Roger raised a caddish eyebrow, smiling to himself as he ran his hands down John’s back until they rested on his hips. They looked at one another, at the flush of alcohol and kisses on the other’s skin, at the way the gloomy glow of the city caught on eyelashes or cheekbones, until Roger groaned and tipped his head back.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m going to ruin the moment.”

 

“Please do.”

 

 Roger rolled his head around until he was looking at John again, something serious in his eyes. John braced himself for whatever it might be, but Roger just pecked him on the lips and murmured. “I know where Crystal’s hid the good champagne, the really good stuff, and all I can think about it stealing a bottle using it to wash my mouth out after I rim you.”

 

“Is Crystal nicking champagne and not cutting us in again?”

 

“ _Deaky_.”

 

 John giggled, swaying back from Roger with what he knew was poorly affected nonchalance. “I don’t know if champagne was made to be paired with my backside, but uh... far be it from me to stop you.”

 

 

 The champagne ended up getting everywhere. John knew the bed was stained with far worse than Dom Pérignon, but something about it mixing with his sweat made him feel luxurious and filthy all at once as he lay staring up at the textured ceiling trying to work out a twinge in his jaw.

 

“Its warm now,” Roger complained and John laughed, glancing over at where he was sat cross legged on the bed pulling a face at the bottle.

 

“How much is left?”

 

“Not a lot,” Roger heaved a great sigh and leant over the side of the bed to place it on the floor. “I suppose the only thing more decadent than licking Dom Pérignon off your skin is not even finishing the bottle.”

 

“I suppose,” John agreed, rubbing his thighs together to feel the faint stickiness left behind.

 

 Roger made a sound like he was about to speak so John glanced up at him, smiling at the disarray of his hair, the bright flush on his face. He took in the redness of his filthy mouth that had just driven John half wild, letting his eyes trail over the marks he'd left along Roger’s collar bone and the fading lines his blunt nails had made over his chest and hips.

 

 When Roger didn't say anything John dragged his attention back to his face and it took him a moment to realise that Roger, always so confident and eloquent, was trying to summon the courage to speak.

 

 John pushed himself up onto his elbows, all the flopped out relaxation of a post-orgasm glow disappearing in a flash. “Roge?”

 

 Hearing his name seemed to startle Roger out of whatever he was trying to say. “Nothing. Nothing.”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

 He smiled at John, dropping forward to plant his hands on either side of John chest so he could lean over him. “It can wait.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah it can wait.”

 

 You got nothing if you pushed Roger before he was ready. He could dig his heels in just as well as John could, so he let it go with a small smile that he knew would get him a peck on the lips, and it did. He caught Roger's eyes when he pulled back and tipped his chin up to get Roger to kiss him again, cupping his cheek as Roger deepened it slowly and carefully so John could taste the champagne on his tongue.

 

“If you're trying to get me going again…”

 

“I might.”

 

 Roger grinned. He ducked his head to gently kiss down John’s throat as he slipped his knee between his thighs, pushing him into the mattress.

  

 

* ***** *

 

 If they had been able to see more of the Midwest than endless roads and endless fields and endless faceless arenas in cities that looked like car parks, they might have enjoyed it more.

 

 The bland repetition of it all had driven Freddie, who withered when bored, to become even more extravagant just for something do. Brian and Roger getting irritable as their large personalities became hemmed in by the nothingness.

 

 John had just become numb to it all, he supposed, tuning out the explosive argument currently going on across the scrabble board. Roger had used a long biological term, _monophylectic_ , that Brian was claiming didn't count while Roger was adamant that it did.

 

 Freddie slipped the cigarette from between John's fingers with a roll of his eyes, tapping the score pad lightly to indicate John should just put it down as a word. “He's just arguing for the sake of it.”

 

“Who is!” Roger demanded, whirling on Freddie.

 

“Bri is.”

 

“I don't dispute that Monophyly is as word, I just don't think…”

 

“You just think only you should use the big words!”

 

“That's not true.”

 

“ _Oh isn't it_?”

 

“What do you think, dear?” Freddie spoke over the arguing, patting John gently on the arm.

 

“Well,” John sighed, starting to tap a nervous beat out on the score pad with the end of his pencil. “It sounds like a real word and Roger _is_ a Biologist so…”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“The last Biology he studied was Deaky's.”

 

 Freddie choked on his cigarette as Roger sputtered, not sure whether to laugh or take offence.

 

 John stopped his tapping, staring at Brian who was still caught up in the argument and didn’t seem to realise what he had just said. John knocked the pencil against the hard plastic of the table before pointing it and Brian. “I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that,” he said, careful to keep his voice low and level.

 

 He wasn’t angry about what Brian had said, or the way he had so casually thrown it out there. But John had boundaries, especially in the middle of the day in nowhere Ohio surrounded by all their minders and assistants.

 

 Brian looked taken aback, and then realisation dawned in his eyes, followed by a mild panic that would have made John forgive him if there was anything to forgive. “John. Oh _shit_. I'm…”

 

“No need to apologise,” John said gently. “Scrabble is known for bringing out the worst in people.”

 

 All the tension from the argument dissipated when Brian laughed. The matter got dropped ‘for the sake of the band', Brian joked, conceding the points to Roger who was giving John a strange look.

 

 It wasn’t as if John never stood up for himself or stood his ground. When he was younger and less sure of himself he’d not be so direct about it, but he had never been a doormat. Well, he liked to think he had never been.

 

 John turned to his tiles, disgruntled that Roger was being weird about him being so firm, missing the gleeful look Freddie was giving Roger who had turned bright red and was shifting in his seat.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger was surrounded by his adoring public again. John watched him as he leant in the doorway to the dressing room, posture open but making it clear no one was getting through the door no matter how pretty or amusing they were.

 

 A pair of startlingly bright, whiskey brown eyes flicked over Roger's shoulder and caught John's gaze. He started, hurrying to turn his attention back to the buttons on his shirt as he moved out of sight of the door.

 

 The guy had been tall, his pale brown face covered in an artful splatter of freckles that disappeared up into tightly curled brown hair. He was the kind of attractive that John had never bothered to look twice at until, well - until Roger and his not so gentle flirting.

 

 Brian looked up from fiddling with his hair when John walked past him muttering to himself. He glanced from John to the door, taking in the scene there, and then went back to what he was doing. Brian had a knack for knowing when to stay out of things that John appreciated, especially when he was feeling like he wanted to die of embarrassment.

 

 He hadn't been staring. Okay, maybe he _had_ , but it was at the ease Roger interacted with people, nothing else. It was something that John, who struggled in crowds and around people he didn't know, had always admired about him.

 

 It was just his luck to get caught gawping at Roger's charming, open warmth by an attractive stranger. And then he topped it all off by reacting like the nervous, awkward idiot he was.

 

 Before John could crawl into a corner and stew on his own mortification, the low hum of the arena was cut off by the soft click of the door closing.

 

“Right then. Is it beers tonight or is someone going to mix some cocktails?” Roger said, rubbing his hands together as he made his way over to their rider.

 

“No-one interesting tonight then, dear?” Freddie asked, half distracted by trimming his moustache.

 

“Nah they were all right.”

 

“They're going to sob into their pillows that Roger Taylor would rather spend time with three old queens than one of them.”

 

“One of them started asking about John,” Phoebe declared, a look of faux innocence on his face as everyone in the room went " _Ooooh"._

 

“That's not why I…”

 

“Someone's possessive,” Freddie smiled as he turned from the mirror. “You should have called Deaky over to say Hi. It would have made her night.”

 

“Yeah,” John found himself. “You're not the only one who should be covering his arse by talking to groupies.”

 

“ _Exactly_ Roge! And then after the gig you could’ve whisked Deaky away for a good hard fuck and re-stake your claim.”

 

 John shot Freddie a dirty look, but his attention was on Roger who was starting to look uncomfortable. He turned away from them all, shoulders creeping up around his ears when Phoebe told Freddie, “It was guy asking about John.”

 

 Brian delved into fiddling with his trainers like they was the most fascinating thing in the world, Freddie shooting John a look of ‘ _whoops_ ’ as he turned back to what he was doing.

 

 John mused on the un-helpfulness of his band mates as he went to lean on the wall next to the rider, watching as Roger made a point of rearranging all the bottles. “Roger…”

 

“He was just someone looking to bag a rock star. He didn’t wanna know about you…”

 

“Do any of them ever want to know about you?” John asked gently, surprised when Roger set down the bottle of grenadine and turned to him.

 

“He just wanted you to fuck him,” Roger said carefully, the exact opposite of the raised voice John had expected. “He wasn’t even trying to...he made it obvious he was looking for you to fuck him.”

 

“Okay,” John said gently, wondering if Roger had forgotten just what it was groupies were after.

 

 Roger’s expression turned sour. He turned on his heel and stormed from the room, yelling, “It’s such bullshit,” as he went.

 

 All eyes turned from the door to John who was stood in shock, the ringing silence in the wake of Roger’s departure being broken by Freddie’s quiet, “That the fuck.”

 

 John sighed deeply, holding up a hand when Freddie made to speak again. “Not in the mood Fred.”

 

“All right, darling,” Freddie said softly, watching John cross the room to dig Roger’s cigarettes out of his jacket.

 

 Brian caught John's eye as he took a deep drag, giving him a sympathetic look that John really, _really_ , needed right now.

 

 Everything felt wrong. Had been feeling wrong, John realised when looking back on it, since before they had set out on this tour. Roger was trying too hard, flying off the handle at the oddest things, not _talking_. If this was Roger trying to pretend there wasn’t something bothering him then he was doing a really shitty job of it.

 

 John was trying to be patient. If Roger needed time to work through whatever this was then John was willing to give it to him. But his silence was starting to wear on John now, and he wasn’t sure how far his patience could stretch.

 

 

 Roger being in a foul mood and John being distracted during a gig was nothing new for Queen. They played a solid, tight set that fed off the friction coming from the rhythm section, and then they had all got the hell off the stage.   

 

 John, fresh out of the shower, was hiding. Well, half hiding. And certainly not from Roger. He was just trying to smoke a cigarette before Freddie found him and stole it from him.

 

 He ducked back behind an equipment case when he heard someone coming, and was relieved when a curly head of hair poked around the corner that was soon followed by the rest of Brian.

 

 John knew he was checking on him when he started to make some good old fashioned British small talk. They all knew one another too well for that to be anything other than a precursor for an awkward conversation, and Brian could be tactful to a fault.

 

 “So,” Brian said after they had run out of things to say about the catering. “What Freddie said earlier. I know you, uh - you don’t really like those jokes and things like that. He gets ahead of himself sometimes with Roger, they - well you know how long they’ve known one another. And I suppose I wanted to see if you were okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Bri.”

 

“And is...Roger fine?”

 

 John smiled around his cigarette. Him and Brian might not always see eye to eye musically, but he was a good guy. He cared about them all in that incredibly deep way that he cared about all things, and John couldn’t help but be warmed by it. “You've noticed it too?”

 

“He got like this when he first...” Brian sighed, moving to lean next to John so they wouldn't be overheard. “He got like this when he first fancied you, I suppose.”

 

 John looked at him in surprise. “He did?”

 

“He was all over the place. It drove me up the wall but I didn’t know what it was all about until just before he acted on it, shall we say.”

 

“Oh,” John breathed around the last of his cigarette.

 

“So…it’s probably something big I imagine. For him at least.”

 

“Fancying your first man big, you mean?”

 

“For Roger. Yeah. So...I think...I think patience and the month off we’ve got coming up will help. Being in Wales helped with,” he waved his hand at John. “You. So...did that - does that help? That this has happened before?”

 

 John bumped their shoulders lightly, smiling at Brian’s earnest attempt to help. “A bit. Thanks,” he said, wishing his cigarette had lasted a few drags longer.

 

 

***

 

“Deaky….John!”

 

“What?”

 

“John!”

 

 He sighed, resting his book on his chest as he shielded his eyes from the glare of the pool to look at where Roger’s voice was coming from. “What!”

 

“Pink or white?”

 

“Uuuh...pink.”

 

“Pink it is!” Roger announced, followed by the hollow pop of cork.

 

 John folded the page to keep his place and set the book aside, stretching out on the plush lounger they’d dragged into the shade.

 

 On the penultimate day of the North American leg of their tour, their second night of a three date run at Madison Square Garden, Roger had bounded up to John after soundcheck and shoved two tickets to Tenerife into his hands. He had booked this bright and airy villa in the hills for a whole week, just them and the sunshine and the wide open spaces so they could wind down and settle back into being human beings and not musicians on tour.

 

 They had barely spent anytime inside in the four days they had been here, eating, cooking and sometimes even falling asleep with the balcony doors flung wind open to the view over the mountains. After spending so long cooped up in back rooms and cars and planes they were making the most of the fresh air and the sunshine. 

 

 Roger, as always, had tanned beautifully. The skin from his powerful, freckled shoulders all the way down to the low hanging waistband of his shorts had turned golden. It made his hair seem more fair, an untamed mess on the top of his head as he strolled around the pool with two glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, a cigarette perched between his lips.

 

 John sat up when Roger got to him, touching the sun warmed skin at his waist when Roger set down his cargo, slipped the cigarette from between his lips, and kissed him. “I bring wine.”

 

“I saw.”

 

 Roger offered John the end of his cigarette and flopped down next to him, picking up John’s book and started to flicking through it.

 

 The smoke from the cigarette was acrid and hot, tickling John’s nose so he stubbed it out and then pushed the ashtray away. He reached out for the wine but didn’t pick up the glass, rubbing his bare feet against the all weather fabric of the cushions as he circled through the same thoughts he'd been having for the past few days. He would tell himself to ask Roger what was going on, and then would talk himself out of it, scared of what the answer might be. Scared that the foundations of however Roger had rationalised being with a man had been shaken by the fact that he was no longer that long haired, pretty young man dressed up in silk and heels from the photograph Roger kept so close to him.

 

 Roger touched his leg, running his palm from John’s knee to the bottom of his shorts and then back down again to draw his attention. Not that Roger had to try very hard to get that, especially when he was sprawled out next to John, his sparkling blue eyes peeking over the top of his sunglasses. He was so naturally, effortlessly sexy that John, who was well aware of how narrow and pale he was, couldn’t help but be glad he had put his t-shirt back on after getting out of the pool.

 

“Something’s on our mind?” Roger asked gently and John could have laughed at the irony of it. He could have _screamed_. He had been treading on eggshells around Roger’s problem for _months_ , and then he came right out and asked John what was bothering him.

 

 John loved him for many, many reasons, but in that moment he could have strangled him for his directness.

 

 “I...yes. Yes. There is,” John took a deep breath. “And I don’t want you to get angry when I say it.”

 

 Roger thought about, slipping off his sunglasses as he pushed himself up so he could kneel facing John. “I will try very hard to not to let my temper get the better of me.”

 

  John nodded, pushing aside his fears whilst trying to find a way to put all his nebulous, half formed thoughts and suspicions into words. All as his indignant spurt of confidence started to fail him. “No, I don’t want...I don’t know...”

 

“It’s bothering you. So you should say it.”

 

“You…” John started, shaking his head as he swallowed down exactly what he thought about Roger saying that to him. “You've been acting...you're not telling me something that I think - that I think is something to do with - well, to do with me. Maybe.”

 

 Roger’s open, encouraging expression stuttered, looking as caught as a deer in headlights before he face planted into the lounger with a groan.

 

 That was all the confirmation John’s anxious brain needed. His heart started to race but he felt strangely numb, his mind whirring over what to do. He couldn’t go back to long hair and satin, it was the eighties. He was nearly _thirty_! But should he even be thinking about that? Shouldn’t he try and help Roger? Should he even be thinking of helping him when Roger had the past _five years_ to get used to the idea of being with a man, with John.

 

 And yet, if Roger, who John knew hadn’t looked twice at a man before him, needed it to be like this - John allowing the extravagant gestures and possessiveness and Roger playing up to the playboy imagine - then, for the sake of how happy he made him, shouldn’t he…No. No it wasn’t okay. And he wasn’t going to do it.

 

 He made to get up, but Roger looped an arm around his waist and pulled him back down. “I- John - John let me explain. Please.”

 

 “Fine,” John said, making a point of keeping his back to him.

 

“Okay. Look. I know this is stupid. But you can - we can do what we do, in bed…” Roger huffed, frustrated, and pressed his face into John’s back. “Everything - the world - says that it’s the mincing pretty boy that likes to get fucked. And there’s nothing wrong with being a mincing pretty boy, and there’s nothing wrong with getting fucked. But you’re not a mincing pretty boy, you never were, and I’ve never known how to - I didn’t know you could not be that and it’s taking some time to adjust.”

 

 “You...why is me not being swishy a problem for you now? Has it only just occurred to you?”

 

“No. It’s not a problem that you’re not...” he felt Roger turn his head so his cheek rested against his spine. “ _I didn’t know you couldn’t be_ ,” Roger said, tone almost pleading and John was stumped. He had realised, much to his relief and embarrassment, that this wasn’t what he had feared, but he had no idea what Roger was going on about.

 

 He ran his palm up Roger’s arm, covering the hand resting against his stomach with his own. “You didn’t know you couldn’t be swishy if you...ah - oh. _Oh_ Roger.”

 

 He let out a pained noise at the sound of his name, shoving his face into John’s back again. John pried Roger’s hand from his stomach, turning in his arms so he could cup Roger’s face in his hands as he give him a soft kiss. “You know you don’t have to. You make me feel...really good. Not just, you know, physically. I’m happy with what we do. ”

 

 Roger wrinkled his nose, screwing his face up so he almost looked unattractive before sagging into the lounger with a sigh. He rested a hand on John’s hip, eyes flickering all over him before meeting his eye. “It sounds arrogant, but I know. I can tell you like what we do, otherwise I’d not want to do it. I bet I sound so fucking conceited…”

 

“You don’t. You’re a good lay.”

 

 Roger snorted, turning his head to kiss the heel of John’s hand. “You’re too patient with me sometimes,” he murmured, pulling John in closer to him. “You have a great time when we shag, and I want to try it. _I want to_. I want to know how it feels and know how you feel when I’m doing you. I want to… I just want to, and so I’m bloke-ing it up like a prig because apparently my masculinity can’t take it.”

 

“I’m not going to fuck you if you need to force yourself to do it.”

 

“Obviously,” Roger muttered. “I look at how dramatic I’m being about all this, and then I look at you and how self assured you’ve always been and I feel like a right prat,” Roger huffed, starting to fiddle with the hem of John’s t-shirt. “You must think I’m a right prat as well.”

 

 “No more than usual,” John said softly, curling his legs up under him to lean closer to Roger. “I do understand. There’s what you’re told and - and then there’s what you feel, you know? And you have to find somewhere between all that to be yourself, right. You have all this expectation of being a rock star and a lady’s man and…”

 

 Roger hated it whenever that was brought up by or around John. He always acted like it was an accusation, like the fact women loved him and he was partial to them was a fault. He pulled a face, huffing indignantly as he tried to pull away from John who held him still. “It’s not a bad thing to be attractive, Roger. I’m not having a go at you! I’m saying you have all these things telling you to be one way and I get it. I don’t think any less of you for this. I won’t think any less of you if this is something you can’t...reconcile.”

 

“Don’t say that,” Roger whined, twisting under John.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because then I’ll have to sit up all night crying about how I don’t deserve you.”

 

 John pressed his face into Roger’s chest and burst out laughing, feeling the surges of Roger’s laughter as a strong hand smoothed from his waist to between his shoulders and then back down again.

 

“I will. Just watch me. I’ll write a song about it and everything.”

 

 John picked his head up to smile at Roger who had that look on his face that somehow only seemed genuine coming from him. An expression somewhere between earnestness and mischief.

 

“Do you want to know what I thought this was about?”

 

“Yeah. Go on.”

 

“So, I found that photo of me you have in your bedside table,” John said, watching Roger’s eyes widen. “And I thought it had gotten weird for you that I don’t, you know, look like that anymore.”

 

“No! John, christ. No. I...I just like that photo! It’s nothing like that. I found it and I’d have put it up if - I thought it would embarrass you!” He grabbed John’s face, seemingly at a loss for what to say so he peppered John with kisses until he laughed. “You are _lovely_. You were lovely then and you’re lovely now, and in ten years you’ll still be lovely. I - I’m going to write a love song about you one day, and it’s going to be really embarrassing.”

 

“Hold you to it,” John promised, watching the Roger's pale lashes flutter as John ran his thumb over his cheekbone. He sat up slightly to kiss him softly, being in no hurry to pull away when Roger wrapped a hand around the back of his neck so he could deepen the kiss.

 

 “What we could do…” John started when Roger finally let him go, getting momentarily distracted by the tingle that when through him when Roger licked John’s spit from his bottom lip. “What we could try, if you like, is…” he wiggled his fingers, “...just fingers. So you can see how you feel about it. Not now, but when you like.”

 

 Roger considered John’s hand for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

 

“Even if you’d turned to me and said you wanted to hop on my dick I’d have said to do this first. You don’t want to just...sometimes it’s better to not jump in at the deep end.”

 

“Is that what you did the first time you, uh - you went about it?”

 

“Sort of,” John said, being mostly truthful.

 

 Roger frowned at him, but didn’t push it. Instead he huffed a great sigh, reaching out to take John’s hand. “I hate not being good at things.”

 

 “Well, I’ve never fucked a bloke before. So I can’t promise I’ll be any good.”

 

“You've never?”

 

“Nope.”

 

 Roger almost frowned again. He opened his mouth to speak and then checked himself, eyes flicking over John’s face before, with a roll of his eyes, his whole demeanour changed. There was a sparkle in his eye that only meant one thing as he dragged John fully into his lap. “You’ll be my first everything with a man then. And that’s just too horrifically romantic.”

 

 John laughed, bracing his hands on Roger’s shoulders as a hand worked it’s way down the back of John’s shorts. “How disgusting of us.”

 

“The only thing to save our reputation is to have a quickie outdoors.”

 

“Mmmm,” John hummed, bending down to brush his lips against Roger’s. “I think we’ll just have to.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chpt I was on the ball with dates and cities from The Game tour, and this chpt I...wasn't. It doesn't make a difference, I'm just admitting my sins. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

**-1981**

 

 It was warm in Buenos Aires. The city bright and loud as it stretched out down towards the inky black ocean.

 

 John tipped his face into the breeze, letting it shift through his hair and chill the sweat on his skin. He could hear the chatter and the thump of music from inside; there was 'gathering' in Freddie’s suite to celebrate the end of the Argentina leg of this seemingly unending world tour. Roadies and security were mingling with the celebrities that Freddie always seemed to sniff out, along with a couple of guys that Freddie had his eye on.

 

 John had been to more wild parties than this, had blacked out at a few as well, but about an hour after arriving at this one he had realised his heart wasn't in it.

 

 There was nothing wrong. There was no great weight on his shoulders. He would just rather not be surrounded by people tonight.

 

 John shook out a cigarette from the rumpled packet he'd slipped from Rogers pocket, lighting it and leaning back against the steps of the fire escape as he tried to blow a few smoke rings.

 

 It had only been a matter of time before smoking had became a habit. Freddie and Roger had kept him away from the drugs, he didn’t drink to excess when he wasn't at a party, and he had never paid much attention to the people who wanted to fuck a rock star. So it wasn't the worst habit he could have picked up while living the life he did, but it was still bad enough to get his mother's disapproval.

 

“Oh _dam_ , I thought I'd finally catch you two in fragrante!”

 

 The unexpected shout almost made John choke. He glared up to where the voice had come from, wafting smoke away from his face as he watched Freddie hop down the steps towards him. “Is Roge not still in there?”

 

“Oh yes he's getting up to all sorts of depravity with Brian. I just needed something dramatic to say for my entrance,” Freddie said as he wiggled his bum into the space on the step between John and the wall. “Hand it over.”

 

“Why do you always take my cigarettes?” John complained as he let Freddie pluck it from between his fingers.

 

“Because I know you'll give them to me,” Freddie grinned, bumping his shoulder against John's as he took the tiniest drag. “Now, come on darling. Why on earth are you out here by yourself. Are you all right?”

 

"I felt like sitting alone looking out over a foreign city, at its warm lights and bustle of humanity, and feeling the ache of artsy loneliness!”

 

 Freddie laughed, swapping the cigarette into his other hand so he could squeeze John's knee. “All right, _Brian_.”

 

 John shot Freddie a smile, shrugging as he rubbed the backs of his fingers over his jaw. “I’m not a people person, you know. And on tour it’s all people, people, people, people all the time. So…” waved a hand around his surroundings. “And if I left Roger would’ve felt like he should go too, and you're having…”

 

“Oh _fuck him_. If you want to leave, leave!”

 

“Would you say that to Roger?”

 

“No. I'd call him a sappy sod and mock him _relentlessly_ about being wrapped around your little finger,” Freddie teased. “Now, I want you to answer me one thing.”

 

“I'll need the cigarette back, then.”

 

 Freddie made to give it to him and then snatched it back, waggling his eyebrows as he held the cigarette up to John's mouth. John rolled his eyes and played along, taking a drag from between Freddie's fingers and making like he was going to blow it into his face.

 

“Argh! You little bitch! Look at the mischief on your face! No wonder Roger likes you so much.”

 

“Sorry,” John grinned as he turned his head to exhale.

 

“You have to answer me now,” Freddie said, drumming his fingers on John's thigh. “I can see something is going on with you two. Something different. And I want to pry.”

 

“Why do you want to know? You ‘aving a dry spell and need details?”

 

“ _Meow_ ,” Freddie purred. He leant away from John, giving him as much space as he could when they were sitting on the same step. “No. But I'm an old bird who worries, and I can see something has gone on and I want to know you’re both okay, darling.”

 

“Have you talked to Roger?”

 

“I told you, all Roger talks about is how wonderful you are if I even mention your relationship.”

 

 John wished he had a cigarette to fiddle with, instead crossing his legs and shoving his hands between his thighs to keep them still.

 

“Darling,” Freddie said softly, gently touching John's arm. “I swear on my own life it shan't do further than us.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I may have become a bit of a gossip but that's…”

 

“No. Freddie.. “

 

“But that would never spread any of your business. Or Roger's, or Brian's.”

 

“Freddie. I know. I know you'd never spread it around. I trust you.”

 

 Freddie nodded and took an actual drag of the cigarette. “I don't expect you to tell me all things, Deaky. I know you told me about all that... _unpleasantness_ from…”

 

“I wouldn’t go so far as unpleasant.”

 

“ _Oh, all right then_! The not always _pleasant_ tales of what it was like to be a young, curious man in the midlands! _Better_?”

 

“Suppose,” John smiled and Freddie huffed.

 

“Distracting me,” he chided, whacking John’s arm with the back of his hand. “You're not nineteen anymore, and you were always your own man. But you've become so reserved about you and Roge, _you're not even asking me about rimming anymore_ ,” Freddie stage whispered, grinning when John blushed. “You don't have to tell me fuck all, darling. I know you're very sensible, and Roger is very sweet, but something has happened, and - as I said - I'm an old bird who worries about you both.”

 

 “I want Roger to have someone to talk to about all this, you know. We both know he never even thought about men until...and he needs someone other than me to talk to. He's so warm and friendly but you know that he doesn't let many people that close. You're both our best friend and I didn't want you in the middle of...well. Anyway.”

 

 “You know I'm always here for you both, John. Roger has talked to me, he does talk to me, just not _recently_.”

 

 John peered up the fire escape to see if anyone else had popped out of the party, and then leant in close to Freddie. “He had a bit of a wobble because he wanted to try getting fucked, but it’s all sorted now. We talked about it, and we're seeing if we can work up to it.”

 

“You mean…” Freddie blinked at John, eyes flicking over him before leaning in until John could smell the champagne on his breath. “You mean to tell me that for all this time you've been the one taking it up the arse?”

 

 Freddie didn't try to stop John when he reached for the cigarette this time, watching him as he took a deep drag. “Yes.”

 

“Oh...Nothing wrong with that of course but - well, hes decided to try it. He should enjoy it,” Freddie gave him a very naughty look. “You're very dexterous.”

 

 John snorted, made to say something but then burst out laughing as Freddie started to cackle. He was feeling a little tipsy, a little bold and brash like he always did in Freddie's presence, so he bumped his shoulder with Freddie and said in a low voice. “He liked it when I...when we tried…” he wiggled his fingers. “You know. I didn't just want to shove my dick in him when nothing else had been up there, you know. That's not...the best.”

 

“Ssshhhh,” Freddie giggled. “Or all those big burly men I've had my eye on will come running to hear more about you two pretty things rolling around.”

 

“You're handsome enough to hold their attention, Freddie.”

 

 Freddie waved him away, and then patted him on the knee again. “I am simply going to have to steal you away from Roger, my dear”

 

“I'm not big and burly enough for you.”

 

“Oh rubbish. You're the butchest one in the band,” Freddie declared, giving John's bicep a squeeze before letting out a theatrical cry and sprawling over the steps with an arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. “I simply cannot contain myself when I think of when you worked in that mechanic’s, coming to rehearsal smelling of _oil_ and _manliness_. _Oh Deaky_!”

 

“Freddie!”

 

 Freddie took his arm from his face and smiled up at John. “You and Roge are very good for one another, and I know you'll make the best of every situation.”

 

“I hope so.”

 

 Freddie stood, stretching his arms above his head as he turned to the view of the city, the brightness of Buenos Aires lighting up his silhouette. He let his arms drop, taking a deep breath of the clean ocean air before turning back to John. “I love you dearly, Deaky.”

 

John propped his chin on his hand and smiled at him. “I love you too Freddie.”

 

“Now, come with me and I'll sneak you out of the party unseen with at _least_ two glasses of champagne.”

 

 

* ***** *

 

“This is the cleanest I have ever been!” Roger announced, leaping onto the bed and began bouncing around in just a towel.

 

“Is that really something...don’t bounce on me!”

 

“I’m working off nervous energy," Roger declared, John flinching out of the way when Roger pulled his legs up so he’d land laying down, the bed giving a dangerous groan as he bounced before settling. “Do you really do that every time before we fuck? Clean like that?”

 

“I try to, at some point.”

 

“How do you know we will?”

 

 John rolled his eyes to look at Roger who pretended to look innocent for all of a second before laughing. “Okay okay, guilty as charged.”

 

 John scooted closer to him, ignoring Roger’s raised eyebrow and the casual flicking open of his towel. “You weren’t working off nervous energy last time.”

 

“This is good nervous. Last time I was just bricking it. This time I want it to go even better!” he declared, twisting to grab for the lube but finding it gone.

 

“I’ve got it.”

 

“Keen are we?” Roger grinned, grabbing a pillow to shove under his hips like it was second nature.

 

“No,” John said, straddling Roger’s hips so the cotton of his briefs brushed Roger’s dick. “I’m slowing you down.”

 

“Do you know how many people _dream_ about having me gagging for it?”

 

John ducked his head to brush his lips over the corner of Roger’s mouth. “Have I never had you gagging for it before?”

 

 Roger hmm’ed thoughtfully, tipping his head to catch John’s lips in a fleeting kiss as he cupped Johns hips, stretching out his fingers to brush over the curve of his bum. “Don’t tempt me or I will derail this.”

 

 Roger’s skin was cool from the shower when John pressed his smile to the hinge of his jaw, kissing the bob of his Adams apple and the dip at the base of his throat that was ticklish. Roger squirmed, flexing his fingers on John’s hips as he kissed along the line of his powerful shoulders and then over the swell of his softer pecs. The calluses on Roger’s palms dragged over John’s back as he slid down his body until he was settled between Roger's legs that fell open to accommodate him.

 

“Do you feel exposed sometimes, when we do this?”

 

“Not always. Do you feel exposed?” John asked as he clicked open the lube.

 

“No,” Roger said softly, rolling his head to the side so he could look at John. “It’s probably the fact that you’re about to finger me, but… I really admire how self assured you are.”

 

“Okay, don’t get weepy on me now,” John teased, warming the lube up between his fingers.

 

“Piss off,” Roger huffed, smiling despite himself when John pressed a kiss to the inside of his knee.

 

 The first touch of John’s finger made Roger jump, which was an improvement on how he had frozen last time. John ran his lips up the length of his half hard dick, letting his tongue catch against the head before moving over Roger to kiss him. 

 

 Roger threw himself into it, like he did everything, cupping John’s jaw as he slipped his tongue into his mouth. It was a good distraction for them both, John from his own nerves and Roger from the light touch John was using to get his body used to the idea, nipping lightly at his lip before pressing his fingertip into him.

 

 As expected that stopped Roger's kisses in their tracks. He pressed his head back into the pillow, gripping John’s bicep tightly as several expressions moved over his face in quick succession.

 

 Telling Roger to relax would be counterproductive, so John let him adjust, stroking his free hand down Roger's side in the hope it would soothe him. He felt the tension leave Roger just as his expression cleared, and he tried to rock his hips against John’s hand.

 

 “You’re so impatient!” John muttered as he slowly pushed his finger the rest of the way in, letting it brush that spot that always made him, and Roger last time they had done this, melt.

 

“Oh - _ah. Fuck._ Unfair,” Roger gasped, knocking his leg into John in protest. “Just - it was so good last time, two fingers will make it even better. So…”

 

“You know that’s not how this works?”

 

 Roger shrugged, all his nervous bravado fading away as John rocked his finger into him. “Oh.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yeah. Will you...Can we go for two?”

 

“Sure?” John asked and Roger nodded, breath hitching when John pulled his finger out and sat back on his heels.

 

“It…” Roger started, eyes fixed on John’s fingers as he put more lube on then. When they had first tried this Roger had asked questions at every step - “should I use that much lube on you?” “does it sting like this for you?” “ _Fuck me_ do you always come this hard?” - trying to compare it with what it was like for John. They had both been ridiculously nervous so John had been happy for the distraction, but he was glad Roger was allowing himself to experience everything this time around.

 

“It?” John prompted, dropping the lube back onto the sheets and stroking his clean hand down the inside of Roger’s thigh.

 

“Nothing. A nothing thought.”

 

 John nodded, and gently rested his fingertips against Roger’s hole. He felt Roger tense and laid some kisses down his thigh, moving to mouth at his dick when he pushed into him.

 

 He kissed over Roger’s hips and abdomen as he eased his fingers into him gradually, pulling back and then pushing in again. Roger’s dick was half hard but John still took the head into his mouth, Roger’s hands scrambling at his shoulders as John stroked the pads of his fingers over his prostate and sucked his dick at the same time.

 

“Oh shit. Oh shit. _FUck_. Deaky - _Joh...Deaky_ Fuck. What the fuck,” Roger babbled, hips rocking between John’s fingers and his mouth, heels slipping against the sheets.

 

 There had been a lot of stopping and starting last time and John had ending up giving Roger a hand job to finish him off. This time he found himself being dragged off of Roger’s dick and up his body, Roger licking the precum off of John’s lips before chasing the taste into his mouth.

 

“Fuck,” Roger growled, twitching bodily as he started to jack himself off. He held John in place with a hand on the back of his neck so he could breath into his mouth as he pushed back against his fingers, letting out a startled groan when he came, cum spurting up his chest.

 

 John couldn’t keep in a chuckle, whispering, “Overachiever,” against Roger’s cheek as he flopped out under him.

 

 While Roger was still slightly dazed John pulled his fingers out and wiped them on the still damp towel, picking up an edge to try and wipe at Roger’s chest.

 

 “Nuh,” Roger grunted, knocking John’s hand away.

 

“No?” John asked, watching the sweat on Roger’s stomach catch the light as he tried to catch his breath.

 

 Roger held up a finger to indicate he needed a minute and it made John smile. He gave the inside of Roger’s knee another kiss before slipping out from between his legs to lay laid down next to him, adjusting himself in his underwear as he propped his head up on his fist so he could look at Roger.

 

“You. _Fuck_. Deaky!”

 

“Was that good?”

 

 Roger’s eyes snapped open, a smile bright on his face. “I am going - when I can feel my fingers again - I am going to… I don’t even know. But I’m going to make you cum as hard as I just did, _you bastard_.”

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger’s muffled reply to John yelling that he was home came from the direction of the dining room so, after kicking his shoes off, he headed that way.

 

 The long, antique wooden dining table was covered in paper. Note paper, napkins, beer mats, the inside pages of catalogues - all the things Roger scribbled lyrics onto when they came to him.

 

“Freddie called, he wants to meet and talk about new songs. I said we’d be ‘round in an hour,” Roger explained, taking off his glasses as he tipped his head back for a kiss, pulling John back in for a second and a third. “How was the shops?”

 

 “I got called a ‘nice young man’,” John grinned, setting down his shopping bag as he tilted his head to read a lyric.

 

“Have to up my game so the grannies don’t steal you from me,” Roger said, pulling the bag closer to peer in to it. “Anything in here for me?”

 

“Well…” John started, hesitated, then knew he’d have to continue because the pause had caught Roger’s attention. “I got these,” he said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a box of condoms.

 

 “Why?” Roger asked, peering at them. “I'm pretty sure if you haven't been knocked up by now it’s never gonna happen.”

 

“Oh, har har,” John said dryly, giving Roger a withering look even as he felt his ears heat. “I thought you might like the option of it being not so messy.”

 

“Huh,” Roger nodded thoughtfully, taking the box from him and giving it a little shake. “Do - would you prefer if I used them?”

 

“Oh. No, it's fine,” John knew he said that little too quickly, feeling his face go very, very red as he turned his whole attention toward rearranging the shopping in the bag.

 

 There was a screech of chair legs against the floor, and in a flash Roger was plastered against his back, hands sliding around John’s waist and between his thighs. “I think you like it when I shoot off in you,” Roger rumbled into his ear and John gasped, grabbing onto the edge of the table as Roger tightened his hold on him, pushing is hips forward so his dick was pressed against John’s bum. “Luckily for you, I like it too.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. All my dirty male possessiveness cums out.”

 

“Urgh, for _god'ssake_.”

 

“And luckily for us I know a fun way we can both get what we like.”

 

“You said Freddie…”

 

“He'd love nothing more than us turning up late having obviously fucked,” Roger trailed his hand up John's inner thigh to press his palm against John's dick. “And I'd love nothing more than you sat on his floor with me still inside you.”

 

 John twisted to look at Roger. He had that open expression he always had when he got like this, as perfectly willing to back off as he willing to fuck John over their dinner table.

 

“You dirty old man.”

 

 Roger waggled his eyebrows, pushing John against the table as his hand when to his fly.

 

 

 They ended up being an hour and a half late to Freddie’s.

 

 If their shower damp hair and glowing faces (and the two lines of bruises slowly forming on the front of John’s thighs that Roger had smothered with kisses) weren’t enough of a give away, them standing on Freddie's doorstep giggling at one another, obviously still high off a hard fuck, definitely was.

 

 Not that Freddie wouldn't have worked them out long before they arrived, of course.

 

 In the wake of John ringing the bell there was a yell and a thud, and then the front door was flung open. Freddie stood there with a cat in arms trying to look stern before bursting out laughing. “Aren’t you two a sight!” he said gleefully as he ushered them inside. “Phoebe! Champagne please!”

 

 “ _We're supposed to be writing_ ,” Brian's voice came from the back of the house, sounding incredibly exasperated.

 

“We've almost come to blows several times while you two have been absent,” Freddie said like it was the biggest secret in the world as he lead them down the hallway. “Bri I simply will not have it!” he declared as he burst into the kitchen. “Here we were, _slaving away_ , while our rhythm section have been _Fucking_!”

 

“ _No_!” Brian gasped, clapping a melodramatic hand to his cheek as they trooped into the kitchen. “Not like that's all you've been on about for the past hour!”

 

 Thankfully Phoebe turned up at that moment with the champagne. Roger and Freddie cheered, their energy egging one another on, as Brian tried to stop Roger from messing up the carefully arranged piles of lyrics.

 

 John ignored them, taking the bottle from Phoebe so he could pull glasses out of a cabinet. “Thank you, John. And how are you?”

 

 John gave him a dry look as he carefully twisted the cork into his hand and Freddie yelled, “Popping your cork twice in an afternoon, darling?? My My!”

 

 “The usual Phoebes. How's your mum?”

 

 

* ***** *

 

 Roger had been down in the music room nearly all morning. John could just hear the faint thump of the same beat being played over and over again through the soundproofing. Occasionally there would be a stretched out, sharp silence where Roger was either writing stuff down or swearing at himself before the faint drumming started up again.

 

 John knew how Roger got when there was a beat in his head so he wasn't overly concerned when he only saw Roger emerge from the room twice since he had gone down there after breakfast; once to grab a bottle of water and then again to get a book of matches. But when lunch time rolled around and Roger, who was always shoving food in his face when he was doing a lot of drumming, didn't emerge, John went to check on him.

 

 The beat was fast but not angry, the cowbell that Roger loved so much tinkling over the top of the rapid drumming. It didn’t sound like it was for a song on the album that was slowly, painfully, taking shape. It was more like something from their early music, big and brash and complicated, the bass drum thumping right through John’s chest.

 

 His arrival went unnoticed so John leant on the piano, crossing his arms over his stomach as he enjoyed the rare pleasure of actually getting to watch Roger drum. He always put his whole body in to it, never gave anything less than his very best, but was still somehow so graceful. Roger made it look so easy, even when his hair was a mess and his face was flushed with effort, shirt sticking to his front with sweat like it was now.

 

 Roger moved to end it all a crashing roll on his ride cymbals which faded off into a ringing silence when his eyes landed on John. He let his hands fall into his lap, sticks clacking on the top of the bass drum, and stared at John, his breathing somehow perfectly even after all that.

 

 He surprised John by saying, “God you’re beautiful,” out of nowhere, barely giving him enough time to react to that before he was on his feet and rounding the drum kit. “What am I doing down here when I could be with you?”

 

“I don’t know, what are you doing down here?” John asked, stepping to the side of the piano so he couldn’t be backed up against it.

 

 Roger winced when his hands clenched and un-clenched around his drumsticks, spinning one between his fingers before slipping them into his pocket. 

 

 John sighed as he crossed the room, holding Roger’s wrists gently so he could inspect his hands. His fingers were fine but his palms were visibly raw and hot to the touch when John gently checked them with the back of his hand, but, thankfully, not blistered.

 

 “No more,” he warned, and Roger nodded.

 

“I was going to get some fresh air, do you want to come? I want to talk - well, probably more like have a rant about something.”

 

“Of course,” John agreed, giving Roger’s wrists a squeeze. He let Roger lead the way up the stairs and through the house, stopping in the kitchen to grab a couple of beers in the hope that the cool glass of the bottle would help soothe Roger’s hands.

 

 The hot summer sun was arching between the tall, closely packed town houses, casting half the garden in shadow and the other in baking sunshine. The breeze was barely doing anything to cool the air, but the little decked area out the back of the kitchen was blissfully cool as it was too early in the day for the sun to reach it. Roger was dragging the wickerwork chairs into the depth of the shade when John joined him, smiling when he saw the beer in his hands.

 

 John collapsed into one of the chairs and, much to Roger's amusement, leant over the side to knock the bottle caps off on the edge of a plant pot.

 

 “What?” he asked as he handed one over.

 

 “You’d never guess you went to a Grammar School,” Roger said with a shake of his head, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to John.

 

 “It gave me all the skill’s I’d need to reach my full potential,” John said airily as he sipped his beer, putting it underneath his chair as he sat back with the cigarette burning down between his fingers.

 

 Roger snorted, dangling the bottle between his knees and took a deep drag on his cigarette. “I think I'm having a bit of a panic about liking arse stuff so much.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Rationally I know it's a good thing, right,” Roger said, sitting up and waving the bottle around as he spoke. “It's great that I'm trying it and experiencing something new and all that. But there's a little voice in my head asking what that _means_. It _means_ my sex life just got even better! I don’t know what my problem is,” he pointed his cigarette at John. “No. I know what my problem is. It’s dated views on the world that get shoved into kids brains like they’re fact.”

 

 With a great sigh all the fire went out of Roger and he flopped back into his seat, taking a few moody drags on his cigarette. “I know I’m not you or Freddie, but…”

 

 John reached out and touched Roger’s hand to get his attention. “Freddie has struggled for most of his life to get to where he is now. And I did a lot, _a lot_ , of stupid things at home and when I first came down here. You don’t have to fumble around in the dark like we did,” John slipped his fingers around Roger’s hand to hold it lightly. “I care about you and...I want you to go at your own pace, you know?”

 

 Roger thought about that, tapping his thumbnail against the neck of the beer bottle. “You know I don’t give a fuck about ex’s and all that?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“If anyone was bad to you, I’ll kick the shit out of them.”

 

“No-one was. You’re safe,” John said, looking Roger in the eye so he knew he was telling the truth.

 

“All right,” Roger nodded, sipping his beer. “All right,” he tapped his foot on the floor and then shot a grin at John. “My favourite thing is fumbling around in the dark with you.”

 

 John rolled his eyes and bent to pick up his beer, “What happened to your panic?”

 

“Well, you see, I’m very smart and I got the most level headed, sweetest man in the world to…”

 

“Yeah yeah,” John drawled around the lip of the bottle.

 

“Seriously. Thank you for listening and talking sense and putting up with all this.”

 

“I don’t put up with you. I love you.”

 

 Roger scooted his chair even closer to John’s, leaning over to he could kiss John’s cheek and whisper, “I love you too,” against his skin.

 

 John didn't know what Roger saw as he stayed close, just looking at John, but it seemed to please him. Roger settled back in his chair with his eyes still on John, kicking his legs out to tangle their feet together as he took a self satisfied drag of his cigarette.

 

 He tipped his head back against the chair with a sigh, trying to keep down a smile when a thought came to him. Roger kicked his foot to get his attention when he couldn't stop a giggle escaping, raising a questioning eyebrow when John glanced at him.

 

“Just...hah. Freddie told me - he told me that if you ever needed cheering up I should get dressed up in something lacy and dance around for you.”

 

 Roger almost inhaled his cigarette as he flailed in surprise. “What! He...No, but you wouldn’t.”

 

“Of course not,” John snorted, but they both gave one another a hard side eye before finishing their cigarettes in peace.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 John didn’t even know what time it was. They had been listening to the same section over and over again trying to work out why the tracks weren’t levelling out and he was starting to go a little stir crazy.

 

 Brian had given up and gone home so he didn’t miss his son’s bedtime, and John was starting to wish he had escaped along with him. He was perched on the edge of the mixing desk and was on the brink of sliding right off it to sprawl out on the floor and scream into the carpet.

 

 Mack, Freddie, and Roger were still in the zone, checking track list’s and scribbling all over the desk in china marker as they tried to adjust the tone, muttering amongst themselves in the short hand the band had developed after spending so long in the studio. John thought that he could go and curl up in the corner to have a nap and they wouldn’t even notice.

 

 He sighed and glanced at the levels, trying to work through the constant repetition to really listen to what was going on. He reached across the desk and very carefully nudged a few dials to make tiny adjustments, dropping his hands into his lap as he tried to listen to what that had done to it.

 

“John’s on to something there,” Mack said, stopping the tape and going back to the start so they could all hear it.

 

“Our guardian angel strikes again!” Freddie cried, throwing his arms up in the air. “Thank fuck for that.”

 

 John was about to ask if that meant they could call it a night when Roger, who wasn’t one for displays of affection when they were working, gave John’s calf a squeeze. He smoothed his hand up John's leg to rest on his thigh, fingertips pressing into the softness of his inner thigh, leaving his hand there as he scratched the end of his china marker through his hair.

 

 When it looked like his input had only given them a boost to keep going instead of its desired effect of wrapping this up for the evening, John stood and stretched. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and would have moved across the room if Roger’s hand still wasn’t pressed against his thigh.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

“No idea.”

 

 Roger looked at him, then at the clock on the wall, and then at his watch before pushing away from the desk. “Okay. We’re done for the day.”

 

  They waited for their taxi just outside the studio, keeping out of the way of the bustle on the Munich streets as Roger smoked and John tried to decide if he wanted a cigarette or if he wanted Roger to put his out.

 

“I could’ve gone back to the flat on my own. You didn’t have to leave.”

 

 Roger sidestepped so he was closer to John, ducking his head as he put his hand on his lower back. “I know.”

 

 If Roger had stayed then Freddie would have pulled out a 'little something to keep them going', as he put it. Then Roger would have probably come stumbling in at four in the morning babbling a mile a minute, about to go from buzzing to crashing.

 

 John didn’t care if Roger did that occasionally, and Roger was careful that it was only occasionally, but he didn’t see how a chemical rush helped production. You could always hear it in the track and on more than one occasion Brian and John had put in extra hours to fix it. 

 

 Despite that, he really wouldn’t have minded if Roger stayed. John didn't feel like doing much more than collapsing in front of the TV while eating pizza and then collapsing in in to bed, whereas Roger always needed to let off steam after a long time in the studio. A night out with Freddie was just what he needed sometimes, he always had a smile on his face the morning after no matter how awful he looked. But, all the same... “I’m glad of the company,” he said quietly.

 

 Roger nodded, a pleased smile tugging at his lips as he squeezed John’s waist before smoothly putting some distance between them again.

 

 

* ***** *

 

Warmth. That was the first thing John was aware of. The warmth of being cocooned in soft sheets with the gentle morning light safely on the other side of his eyelids.

 

 The next thing he was aware of was the itch of a hickey on his neck. He pulled a hand out from under the pillow to rub at it, and that's when yesterday afternoon snapped fully formed into his mind.

 

 John groaned, pushing his head into the pillow as his head gave a dull, unhappy throb to let him know that he'd had a few more drinks than he should have last night. That was when the longed for smell of coffee and breakfast hit him. He wondered if it was just wishful thinking until he became aware of someone else in the room.

 

 He considered his options. He could burrow into the covers and hide from Roger until he got bodily dragged out of bed, or he could face him and get coffee and food.

 

 John had hardly pulled the duvet from over his head, coffee having won out in the end, before Roger was leaping onto the bed.

 

“No.”

 

“Come on Deak’s. I’ve got something got you!”

 

 John considered rolling over and pretending to go back to sleep, but he suspected that wasn't going to be tolerated this morning. He finally got his eyes open to peer up at Roger, pushing himself upright when he saw the cup of coffee set on the bedside table. “You’re the best person in the world,” John muttered as he took a gulp, rubbing the last of the drowsiness from his eyes as he focused on Roger.

 

“So it's half way through nineteen eighty-one. I called up the gardener and he's going to put in another rose tree next week. So it'll be six! Six years!” Roger was smiling, tapping his fingers on his knees with barely contained happiness, and it just made John feel even worse about last night.

 

 He gulped down more coffee as he summoned up a smile for Roger that he knew wouldn't fool him. “We'll have to make sure we're in Surrey when this one goes in.”

 

 Roger nodded, smoothing out the duvet before shuffling closer. “I know you're embarrassed. Which you don’t need to be, but it's fine. I've been so caught up in my own shit that I never bothered to ask if you even want to do me.”

 

“I do. It's not something I ever thought about much. But I do.” “

 

Good. So -” Roger rested his elbows in his knees and held his hands out between them. “I'm not demanding that you tell me what went wr - what happened last night, but if you want to I will listen.”

 

 John cupped the mug of coffee in both hands, pulling his knees up to his chest as he considered the morose thoughts he’d had last night while hiding in the office with a bottle of rum.

 

“Disappointing you was something I’d worried about but...I was fine up until - well, you know. The last moment. And the weight of all your concerns and trust and everything just went _woompf_ on me, and I couldn't. I just couldn’t do it. And ended up disappointing you anyway.”

 

“I'm not disappointed. I'm... I didn’t even think about how I was putting all this pressure on you. Christ, it's only sex! And I'm freaking out and you're freaking out and...lets not have this as Roger Taylor's First Time Fucked in the Arse. Let's have it happen when it happens. Yeah? How's that sound?”

 

“It sounds…” a hundred worries hit him. What if he could never do it? What if he did and Roger loved it so much he had to keep doing it? What if Roger hated it?

 

“I have no complaints about how things are now,” Roger said softly. “You know I can't get enough of thoroughly messing you up. If I don't like your dick in me, at least I love your fingers.” Roger sat up on his knees, grabbing John's hand around the mug of coffee. “We're still working all these things out after six years of being together, John! Do you know how many people get stuck in a rut after just two? I love that we're growing together like this. Don't feel like you've let me down, all right. I'd rather you hadn't fucked me than done it and regretted it later.”

 

 John pitched forward to lean his forehead on Roger's shoulder, feeling stupid and relieved and in love all at once. “Okay.”

 

“Okay what?”

 

“Okay to letting it happen when it happens,” he kissed Roger’s shoulder through the soft linen of his shirt and sat back to look at him. “Check you out. Being all level headed.”

 

“You rubbed off on me enough!” Roger laughed, filthy as anything, as he reached behind himself and then shoved a gift bag in John's face.

 

“What…”

 

“It was going to be for your birthday but I thought you might need cheering up.”

 

“I don’t need cheering up. You’ve cheered me up. Keep it for my…”

 

“Look. You can fight me on this and I can just follow you around with this bag until you give in. Or you can open it now and we can both enjoy our day.”

 

 John tutted, handing Roger the coffee as he reached into the bag, picking out the balled up tissue paper that had been hastily shoved on top of whatever was in the bag to chuck at Roger.

 

 He just flicked it off the side of the bed, sitting up and drumming his hands on his legs as he watched John pull out the neatly folded bundle of green fabric. John frowned at it, glancing over at Roger as he shook out the jumper and held it up by the shoulders. “What…”

 

“Do you remember when Bri was in hospital and we brought him Pong to cheer him up but we just ended up playing it until you beat me and I chucked the console across the room?”

 

 John looked from the bold print on the Space Invaders jumper to Roger in confusion. “How could I forget?”

 

“And when we first went to America, Freddie having to drag us out of the arcades because we were so caught up in all the lights and the noise and all the games?”

 

 John nodded, a smile starting to tug at his mouth. “Yes, I do.”

 

“Well, I saw this and thought you’d like it because it’s kitsch and terrible, and I like it because it’s garish and nerdy. And,” Roger planted his hands on either side of John and leant in to kiss him gently. “I knew it would make you smile, so that’s why you have it now.”

 

“I’ll wear it today,” John whispered, giving Roger another soft kiss. “Thank you.”

 

“You are very welcome,” Roger whispered back, grinning at John before shuffling off the bed.

 

 John carefully refolded the jumper and placed it on his bedside table, leaving his hand resting on it as Roger settled in next to him with a fully loaded breakfast try. “Personally, I think dragging myself out of bed and managing to make scrambled eggs on toast without burning half of Kensington down is much more worthy of a kiss than just being thoughtful.”

 

“It probably is.”

 

 Roger paused in buttering his toast to pout dramatically, grinning like an idiot when John smacked a kiss on his cheek.

 

 

* ***** *

 

 The first time they managed it had been the very opposite of their well planned out, carefully arranged, disastrous first attempt.

 

 They had been fumbling around in the car after Brian’s birthday party. John, who’d managed not to crash while driving along the winding Surrey roads with Roger groping his dick, hadn’t even suggested they try and get through the front door as Roger had dragged him into the back seat.

 

 Roger had perched in John’s lap after they’d been grabbing and rocking against one another for a while, got himself ready and then - after checking John was up for it as well - had lowered himself onto his dick.

 

 Roger only got half of it inside of him before saying that was enough and John couldn’t help but agree. It was nothing like he had ever, ever, felt before and it was only the grip he had on Roger’s hips and the seat belt digging into his back that stopped him from doing something stupid like bucking his hips up or shooting his load.

 

 It was cramped and awkward, Roger not knowing how to get purchase or brace himself as he very carefully rocked his hips, gasping whenever he pushed back onto John’s cock. He looked as startled and overwhelmed as John felt and he tried to soothe him with gentle touches, tried to kiss him and do all those things Roger’s did whenever John started to get overwhelmed, but in the end they both agreed that it was too much.

 

 Roger didn’t go far after he eased off of John’s dick. He just got more Vaseline on his palm and jacked them both off, pulling at John’s hair as he bit at his mouth until they both came. Before they had even caught their breath, knee’s still a little wobbly after fucking in such a cramped space, Roger dragged John out of the car and into the house.

 

 John wasn’t one for being manhandled, but he let Roger dump him onto the bed and drag his jeans off before flipping John onto his front and encouraging him up onto his hands and knees. He’d fucked him hard, his long, deep thrusts forcing John to brace himself against the headboard so he didn’t get shoved up the bed, Roger whispering all kinds of filthy things into John’s ear about how he had felt inside of him.

 

 The second time was a little bit more daunting as there hadn’t been that fumbling, rushed, slightly tipsy excitement there had been in the backseat of Roger’s Mercedes.

 

 John had been twisting his fingers into Roger, pressing kisses to the swell of his bicep whenever Roger’s grip tightened on the pillow under his head. It was lazy love making after a lazy day right up until the moment Roger curled his fingers around the back of John’s neck to drag him in for a kiss and then, literally, asked John if he wanted to, “climb on.”

 

 A laughing fit followed, and after a couple of failed attempts at calming down John rolled on a condom and slipped between Roger’s legs. He tried not to get the giggles again when he gently pushed into him but Roger caught his eye and they kept dissolving into soft laughter between caught breaths and Roger’s pinched expressions that had John easing back.

 

 It was slow, sloppy, love making. John had been fucked enough times that he had a good idea about what could feel good, so he tried to find an angle of his hips to hit Roger just right. The cry that ripped out of Roger let him know when he’d found it, Roger starting to buck and moan when John twisted his fist around the head of his dick in time with his thrusts.

 

“Now I know why you always want to fuck me,” John murmured into Roger’s neck and he burst out laughing, his whole body shaking as he dragged John closer.

 

 John didn’t manage to last for as long as Roger usually could, but his reputation for stamina was well founded, so John didn’t feel too bad about that. “I’m gonna cum, m’sorry.”

 

“Do it,” Roger demanded, dragging John in for a kiss and whispering, “Do it, do it, do it,” into John’s mouth until he did.

 

“Oh,” John grunted, hips finally stilling even as a tremble ran through his body. “ _Oh fuck_.”

 

“You good?” Roger breathed, smoothing his trembling hands over John’s side’s.

 

“Yeah. Let me…” John carefully pulled out, kissing Roger’s thigh when he looked unimpressed by the sensation before tying off the condom and chucking it at the bin. “What do you want me to do?”

 

“Just…” Roger pulled John down on top of him, rutting up against John’s thigh until he wormed a hand between them to wrap around Roger’s dick.

 

 “Hey,” Roger said when they were sprawled out, sweaty and sated and sticky, shifting stiffly onto his side so he could look at John. “You can’t laugh at me for making weird sounds when I cum anymore.”

 

 John snorted, then dissolved into soft laughter, half twisting away when Roger poked him in the ribs. “That was the first time I’d ever done that. I’m allowed to make weird noises. You have no excuse.”

 

“Not my fault you have the best arse. And I mean fan _tastic_.” John felt his already flushed face heat more as he pretended to preen, never sure what he should do when Roger said things like that. Roger smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before clambering out of bed. “It also helps that you know what you want, and are so dam responsive,” he called over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom. He disappeared around the door, the light clicked on, and then Roger’s head popped back around the door frame. “And that you’re dam sexy too.”

 

 John shook his head, closing his eyes and sighing deeply as he listened to Roger sing under his breath as he ran the shower. He made himself get up and change the sheets before he dozed off, considering flopping back out on the clean bed until the cooling sweat on his skin drove him into the shower.

 

 There was a bright, joyful smile in Roger’s eyes when John carefully closed the shower door behind him. He put aside the flannel he had been using to wipe down his stomach and reached out to drag John under the spray with him.

 

 John caught up Roger’s hand instead of allowing himself to be pulled over to him, running his fingers over Roger’s knuckles and the delicate skin between his thumb and index finger. “I know you enjoyed that, but let me ask if you did anyway.”

 

 “Oh I did. That’s, well…” Roger pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. “I could get all deep and tell you it was the - the _intimacy of my trust in you_ , but I’m man enough to admit I like it when my - ” he paused, swilling the word around his mouth before continuing, “boyfriend fucks me.”

 

“Good. I’m...good,” John smiled to himself. “That’s funny, cause I like that too.”

 

“Good,” Roger nodded, tightening his grip on John’s hand to drag him against him, “Well, I mean...Ah, fuck it,” he muttered, grabbing John’s face and pulling him in for a kiss.

 

 

*******

 

 Roger could remember how much he had hated making their first concert movie. The Rainbow was a huge venue to play, Zeppelin had played there, _Bowie_ had played there. And their gig, immortalised for all time - or as long as tape lasts - had been plagued by power cuts and cameramen getting in their way.

 

 They’d done a few more since then, and Roger had almost become used to the camera’s and the extra people backstage. He stood aside to let the camera cases go past, impressed by how fast their French Canadian cameramen were at packing up and getting away. It almost showed up Queen’s roadies and Roger was definitely going to tease them about that later.

 

 He followed them down the twisting corridors until he got to the loading bay where their car’s were going to pick them up. John was leaning against the far wall, staying out of the way of all the people milling about. He was wrapped up against the bitter Montreal winter that was sneaking in through the doors, hands shoved into the pockets of his ski jacket and long legs crossed at the ankle as he stared at one of the equipment cases, obviously lost in thought.

 

 Roger slipped his hands in his jean pockets and strutted across the loading bay. He leant on the wall next to John, plastering on his most flirty smile as he smoothly pushed his sunglasses into his hair.

 

“Hey, uh,” Roger started, and then tossed his hair with careful carelessness. “What did you think of the gig?”

 

 John made to answer, caught the look on Roger's face, and then narrowed his eyes. “I think it went really well.”

 

“Oh. Thanks,” Roger said nonchalantly. “I'm with the band so I'll, uh, pass that on.” 

 

 John looked at him, trying to swallow down a laugh before plastering on starry eyed smile. “Oh you are! Oh my _goodness_ I love Queen, your _so_ good! You're the drummer right? My friends all think you're _really_ fit.”

 

 Roger arched an eyebrow, lighting a cigarette to hide his smile as he angled his body minutely into John's. “Ah well, its all image sweetheart. You and your friends up to anything later?”

 

“Oh, well. Nothing as exciting as what you’re going to be doing, I bet.”

 

“Fancy coming to the after party? I can get you in as a guest?”

 

 John was just about to break, Roger could see him fighting down a giggle when suddenly Freddie was there. “Is this some...kind of groupie roleplay you boys gave going on?”

 

“ _Not its not!_ ” John protested as Roger sighed, “Yeah. Thats what this is, Fred.”

 

 Freddie looked between them, a cup of tea held between his elegant hands to keep away the chill, before smiling. “I think I'll believe… Roger,” he declared, swirling away to his waiting limo before either of them could protest. “Goodnight darlings, stay safe. Don't let that minx steal your backstage pass Roge!”

 

“Don't encourage them! Their room’s above mine!” Brian protested from where he was half in his car, visibly rolling his eyes when Freddie laughed.

 

 John was shaking his head at them when Roger glanced at him, a delicate flush on his cheekbones. He got caught up in John for a moment, taking in his still, sure features and his clear, fair skin that he knew was so soft to the touch, letting his eyes trail up into his artfully wavy mop of almost curls that Roger couldn’t get enough of. He looked like a painting, Roger thought not for the first time, some delicately crafted, beautifully melancholy Renaissance image.

 

 Then John glanced at him and all thoughts if lifeless bits of canvas and paint hung on a wall flew from Rogers mind. He was tired, Roger could tell, but there was such warmth in his sea-grey eyes as he looked at Roger that he thought he might finally know what Freddie felt like when he looked at all that art.

 

 He was about to say something but Roger cut him off. “Let's skip the after party and go for dinner.”

 

“We're all going for dinner before anyway or did…”

 

“No just...just us. Let me name drop to get us in somewhere nice and have a date. Just us,” he said softly, slipping his hand into John’s pocket to hold his hand. “Before we have to go through all this touring shit again next year.”

 

“You love it.”

 

“Spending time with you? Of course!”

 

John smiled. “Yeah. Let's go.”

 

 Roger looked over at Crystal who was chatting with their driver as they waited for them, checking they were both distracted before darting in to kiss that soft smile.

 

 John pushed himself off the wall, turning on the balls of his feet to walk backwards facing Roger. “I know what we can do afterwards.”

 

“Yeah?” Roger asked as he followed, knowing exactly what John was going to say.

 

 But John just laughed, turning to face forward with his usually leggy grace. He made sure his pert bum was swaying as he sashayed over to the car, shooting a knowing look at Roger over his shoulder.

 

 He was utterly ridiculous and Roger was going to take him to dinner, then take him to bed, and then kiss him tomorrow morning. And the morning after that. And the morning after that. And, if his luck held out, nearly every morning he had coming to him.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Brit notes: a Grammar School is a State School (one funded by the government) that has a selective intake, so you have to pass entrance exams to get in to it, and offers a 'better education' for those from working class/ lower middle class families.
> 
> Well, that was quick! I have another fic in the work's that's not in this universe but is still John/Roger. I don't know when that will be up but thank you again for your comments and support. It really means a lot.

**Author's Note:**

> So, as this is John's POV I went looking for a title amongst his many wonderful, heartfelt songs (I failed as you can see) and let me tell you this funky disco man is big on repetition and the 'oohs' and 'yeahs'. Gotta love that.


End file.
